


Let No Man Put Asunder

by justanothersong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Background Relationships, Don't worry it's only Zachariah, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Money, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The bulk of my estate,” Castiel read aloud from the email, “is hereby left to my youngest nephew, Castiel Jonathan Goode, provided the following parameters are met... family and values of the utmost importance to his heritage and to our family name, he arrive at the family estate within two weeks of my death, bound in holy matrimony. If these conditions are not met, Castiel Goode thereby forfeits his inheritance in its entirety, and the bulk of my estate is bequeathed to Our Lady of the Angels Catholic Church.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fat beads of condensation were making a languid descent down the side of Castiel’s bottle, spurned on by the increasing afternoon heat. The air inside was humid, reeking of old beer and new sweat; fans bolted to the ceiling did their best to dispel the warmth of the day but had little real effect on the sparse patrons scattered in the dim little bar. 

Castiel groaned, his head thunking down on the aged wooden bartop.  
“How is this my life?” he grumbled.

Beside him, his friend chuckled and tossed back a handful of peanuts, chasing them with a long pull on his own beer before replying.

“Because it’s you, Cas,” he responded, mirth clear in his eyes, a little more tipsy than he usually would have been at a little past one in the afternoon on a Wednesday, but the occasion seemed to call for it. “Nothing can be simple for you, or easy. It’s wired in your DNA or some shit.”

Castiel groaned again and didn’t look up, reaching with one hand to throw peanuts in the vague direction of the other man’s voice, only earning laughter in response.

 

Had it been anyone else, Castiel would have been angry at such a flippant response, but there were lines that Dean Winchester could cross that no one else ever could with him. It had been that way since their freshman year chemistry class, when Dean dropped a test tube full of a copper chloride solution on the laboratory floor and loudly apologized to their professor, claiming he had been too distracted by his lab partner’s, as he put it, “very fine ass”.

Castiel had gaped in utter horror, turning bright red at the words, and Dean had just laughed, clapping him on the shoulders and telling him to lighten up. Anyone else, Castiel was sure he would have been horrified and infuriated after that, but something in the carefree way that Dean laughed and the friendliness in his smile had caused Castiel to chuckle in return, and they had been near inseparable ever since.

Neither had ever been one much to quantify relationships, ranking friends and family over one another, but if either had paused to think about it -- and they had, on occasion, over the years -- it would be as clear to them as it was to everyone else: they were best friends, bound close in a way that went beyond the normal day to day friendships each had cultivated over the years, to the point that they considered one another family.

Which is why it was Dean that Castiel called immediately after getting the news, and why he agreed to meet Castiel at a bar in the middle of the workday.

“Zachariah is a fucking bastard,” Castiel grumbled into the bartop.

Dean reached over and punched him hard in the shoulder, earning a disgruntled, “Ow! What the hell?!” for his trouble.

He responded by pointing at Castiel with his beer bottle. “You don’t speak ill of the dead, you ass,” Dean counseled, before downing the rest of the bottle. He nodded to the bartender immediately as he finished it, holding up two fingers to signal another round.

“Excuse me, didn’t you just call him a pretentious balding dickhead like five minutes ago?” Castiel countered with a characteristic frown.

His friend shrugged. “Yeah but he’s not my uncle. Don’t have to worry about, I don’t know, family curses or hauntings or shit. That’s all on you, buddy.”

 

“So it’s true?” the bartender asked, sauntering over with two cold bottles of XX dangling from her grip. She placed them on the bartop, one in front of each man, and remained standing before them, swiping at the bar with a dishcloth while she awaited response.

Castiel had known Jo for about as long as he had known Dean; after their first chemistry lab disaster in their freshman year at KU, he had been more or less adopted into Dean’s extended family, which included the fiery blonde bartender and her mother, Ellen, who owned the dive bar they had congregated in for the day. 

“It’s true,” Dean told her, nodding. “I didn’t even know you could put shit like that in a will for real, but it’s in there and it’s legal.”

Ignoring Dean, whose playfulness and often joking demeanor cause no small amount of skepticism to the bartender, Jo directed her attention to Castiel, and nudged at his elbow with her dishrag, causing him to raise his head. He didn’t look at all happy.

“It’s true,” he agreed miserably. “My brother Michael is a lawyer, he said everything will stand up in court. I have two weeks to show up in Illinois with a wife in tow, or I’ll inherit nothing.”

Jo gave him a sympathetic smile. “Jeez, Cas. I’d help you out with that and all, but you know how Sam gets… he’d lose his shit.”

Dean snorted. “Understatement,” he mumbled, starting in on his new beer even as Castiel polished off his old one.

Jo’s relationship with Dean’s younger brother was a new development; Dean had explained their dueling crushes over the years they had known her, how Sam would find himself head over heals for his friend just as she found a new boyfriend, and vice versa. They had finally gotten their shit together, as Dean had put it, only a few months prior, and the history between them made the early days of their connection somewhat tenuous. Adding in the jealous streak that Sam insisted he didn’t have and Jo’s brief infatuation with Castiel not long after they had first met, and it would only be asking for trouble.

“I know,” Castiel told her seriously, nodding. “It means a lot that you’d even consider it, though. Thank you, Jo.” He had known better than to proffer the idea, all the same; Sam’s jealousy notwithstanding, he hadn’t let Jo down all that easy when she had made her move, flinching out of an attempted kiss with a mildly horrified expression that had brought her to great embarrassment. There was no use in dredging all of that up, not even for an inheritance that would make him set for life.

“We could always ask Ruby,” Dean teased, nudging Castiel with his elbow and earning a snap of Jo’s dish towel to the side of his head. “Hey! Watch the hair!” he cried in faux annoyance before busting out into another round of raucous laughter.

Say what you would about Dean Winchester, but the man could be quite a cheerful drunk.

“I think I would sooner marry you, Dean, then so much as speak to that crazy woman,” Castiel grumbled.

Ruby Janus was something of a sore point among all of them; she had dated Sam and gotten him involved in the local drug scene before Dean was able to pull him out, and Castiel had been made a fool for believing the girl’s pleas that she actually cared for Sam and wouldn’t do him any harm. It had been the first real sore point in his and Dean’s friendship when he sided with Sam in his decision to see Ruby, no matter how much Dean warned him off.

Still, it made him please that Dean could joke about it now; it made it clear to Castiel that old wounds had healed incredibly well, and he no longer had to worry about what shaky ground his friendship with Dean stood upon.

“HEY!” Jo said suddenly, face lighting up. “Hey!” she repeated, and punched Dean hard in the shoulder to get his attention. The motion made him choke on his beer and he glared, waving the bottle at her.

“Hey!” he mimicked in response. “You make me spill my beer, you’re handing over a freebie!”

Jo pinched up her face in a frown. “You better be talkin’ about a drink, Winchester,” she responded glibly.

Dean grinned. “A few months ago, maybe not. But yeah, I’m talkin’ about a drink. Now quit handling the merchandise here or I’m gonna tell Sam you can’t keep your hands offa me.”

Jo glared and punched him again. “You’re such a dick,” she grumbled, and then turned her attention towards Castiel. “What did your uncle’s will say, Cas?”

Castiel sighed. “It said I need to get married or I can’t inherit,” he explained.

“But what did it say exactly?” she pressed.

Castiel frowned, unsure of what she was getting at, and retrieved his smartphone from the back pocket of his jeans. The screen was cracked from where he had thrown it that afternoon, upon reading the email his brother had sent him detailing the strange circumstance of their Uncle Zachariah’s Last Will and Testament.

“The bulk of my estate,” Castiel read aloud from the email, “is hereby left to my youngest nephew, Castiel Jonathan Goode, provided the following parameters are met: that he first continue his study of theology and graduate summa cum laude from his chosen academic institution, and that second, family and values of the utmost importance to his heritage and to our family name, he arrive at the family estate within two weeks of my death, bound in holy matrimony. If these conditions are not met, Castiel Goode thereby forfeits his inheritance in its entirety, and the bulk of my estate is bequeathed to Our Lady of the Angels Catholic Church.”

The graduation part was simple enough; Uncle Zachariah hadn’t updated his will in some time, and Castiel had long since graduated summa cum laude from KU with a degree in theology. He had even gotten a second degree, in philosophy, and his masters since then in Applied Biblical Studies; he taught philosophy and the humanities at a nearby junior college and was writing a book on Genesis and its applications to modern education.

Uncle Zachariah would probably have been proud -- until he read the book, that was.

All the same, Castiel had no wife, not even a girlfriend, nor did he want one; it had taken him a few years to figure out some cardinal truths of himself, but at thirty-four years old, Castiel knew that he was bisexual, but also homoromantic. If ever he found someone to settle down with, it wouldn’t be a woman.

He had a feeling that Uncle Zachariah had figured that out as well, and had written his will either in an attempt to shame Castiel, or save his soul.

“See? It’s perfect!” Jo said. She had tossed her towel over her shoulder and clapped her hands in a childlike expression of glee.

“How is it perfect?” Dean asked her with a frown. “Cas can’t even get laid, let alone get a girl to sign on for the long haul.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel replied dryly, pursing his lips. Turning back to Jo, he sighed. “The jackass is right, though,” he agreed reluctantly. “I’m not seeing anyone, and I doubt there are many women standing in line to marry someone they barely now.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Somebody hasn’t seen much reality television,” she told him, shaking her head. “But that’s not even what I mean. Cas, it doesn’t say anywhere here that you gotta have a wife!”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Jo, didn’t you hear what I just read? ‘Family and values of the utmost importance to his heritage and to our...’”

“Yeah, yeah, I got all that part, I did,” Jo replied, spinning his damaged phone around on the bartop to read the words directly. “See!” she exclaimed, pointing down at the open email. “Bound in holy matrimony!”

Dean blinked. “Yeah, Jo...’” he said slowly, as if it were the bartender who had been tossing back beer after beer, and not him and Castiel. “That’s what Cas has been sayin’ here…”

“God, you two are clueless,” she responded with a sigh, shaking her head. She crossed arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter behind the bar. “It just says ‘bound in holy matrimony’, you morons. Don’t know what century you’ve been livin’ in, but these days, any two consenting adults can get hitched. It doesn’t say Cas needs a wife, it just says Cas needs to be married. Cas, you should marry Dean!”

“What?!” Dean squawked.

Jo laughed. “What’s the matter, Dean? Can tease everybody six ways from Sunday but can’t put up when the time comes for it.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Dean replied, and nudged at Castiel with his elbow. “Cas, tell’er it wouldn’t work.”

For his part, the other man suddenly looked very thoughtful. “It does just say ‘holy matrimony’, Dean,” he said slowly. “There are quite a few churches who would consent to performing a marriage ceremony for a same-sex couple. The executor of the will would be bound by the letter of it…”

Dean suddenly seemed very sober. “Oh,” he said lamely, quickly downing the rest of his beer. “Oh,” was all he managed to say again.

“How much money was your Uncle worth again, Cas?” Jo prodded.

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t have the exact number but the last I heard, it had to be over a million dollars,” he replied.

“Holy shit,” Dean said suddenly, looking at his friend in surprise. “Dude, we are so getting married!”


	2. Chapter 2

Jo’s grand plan had included garnering online ordination for herself and performing the impromptu marriage ceremony for her friends, but though it was very easy for her to become the Reverend Joanna Harvelle of the Universal Life Church, filing the paperwork with the state to make it official and legally binding as an officiant would have taken a few weeks, which was more time than Castiel had to spare. Thankfully Dean had an ace up his sleeve, a family friend who ran a nondenominational church and easily agreed to preside over the ceremony.

Missouri Mosely had known the Winchesters since before Dean had even been born, and her fondness for the boys was only eclipsed by her complete inability to take any guff from either of them, particularly Dean. It was because of this that Dean was so surprised when she laid a gentle hand on his cheek and smiled in the minutes before the ceremony.

“‘Bout damn time you boys made it official,” she told him warmly.

Dean chuckled. “Thought you were s’posed to be psychic, Missouri?” he teased the older woman. “Thought Sam explained the whole deal here to you.”

She smiled, warm umber skin crinkling alongside of her big brown eyes.

“Oh, he did,” Missouri replied, fondness and a sense of knowing better than the man standing before her evident in her voice. “Doesn’t mean I believe a word of it. I’ve got plenty of friends, boy, but not a one of them I can think of that I’d stand up and marry on a whim… not even for a hefty payout.”

Dean flushed slightly, cheeks going as pink as the rose pinned to his suit jacket. Everyone seemed to be under the impression that Castiel’s inheritance would afford him a payday of his own; he hadn’t told anyone that he’d flat out refused every offer of splitting the money from Castiel.

Missouri’s smile grew. “Tellin’ me I don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said, shaking her head. She patted his cheek again and said, “C’mon now, Dean. Your groom is waitin’ for you.”

 

They had agreed not to plan anything expensive, but for the sake of legitimacy, Castiel had insisted on a formal ceremony. The sanctuary of Missouri’s small church was decked out in white bunting she kept on hand for just such occasions and sprays of pink and yellow roses that had been donated by a nearby flower shop; Castiel had long frequented the place, buying the locally sourced honey they sold from the hives they kept on their growing plots outside of the town proper, and the owner had been all too pleased to volunteer her services when she heard of Castiel’s impending marriage.

“Hannah, please, you don’t have to go to any trouble,” Castiel had told her, even as she began jotting down colors and ideas for arrangements for the altar and boutonnieres for both grooms. “It’s not even a real wedding, not really.”

She smiled at him in a manner that, if Dean had seen it, would have reminded him very much of the grin that Missouri had just given him.

“Of course it’s not,” she had said, nodding even as she smiled that knowing little grin. “Whatever you say, Castiel. I’d still like to do this for you. You’re a good friend, you deserve a nice wedding. Fake wedding, even.”

Still unsure that Hannah understood, Castiel had relented; he wanted to bring photos with, just in case there were any doubts to be addressed. His brother Raphael had been named executor of their uncle’s estate, and the two had never really gotten along; it would be an uphill battle, and Castiel was going in armed with as much proof as possible.

Hannah was seated in the third row, her sister Muriel at her side, the both of them beaming at Castiel where he stood at the front of the church. Looking out at the rest of the small crowd gathered, Castiel had to admit, it certainly had an air of legitimacy about it.

Their friends filled the first few pews, mostly the group that had fallen together in their college days along with a few older friends who lived in the area. They had made the decision not to include any family at all, lest anyone get the wrong idea. The only exception to that rule was Dean’s brother Sam, whose large frame stood towering alongside the pulpit, acting as Best Man and grinning like the cat that got the canary. Castiel hadn’t even told anyone in his family, and had Jo standing beside him in a pale yellow lace dress that swept just below her knees and popped brightly alongside the small bouquet of pink roses she carried as a self-described “Best WO-man”; Castiel had asked her to stand in when he realized that, if it were a real wedding, he’d have asked Dean to stand at his side. With the other man having different obligations that day, it fell to Jo, who had readily accepted. 

She had also undertaken directing all of the attire for the ceremony; once she had learned of the color scheme of Hannah’s roses in yellow and light pink, she had bought her own yellow dress and found the boys a pair of softly shaded yellow ties decked in pale pink pinstripes, and one. They had wanted to pull whatever formalwear they had in their closets out and just wear that, but Jo had put her foot down and found a tailor who did a rush job on a trio of charcoal grey suits that they had to admit looked pretty good. All in all, for a week’s planning time, it was shaping up to be a lovely ceremony indeed.

 

Missouri called for everyone to take their places and Dean stepped up on the raised altar bed, giving Castiel a somewhat nervous grin and elbowing him as he passed. 

“I am not carrying you over any threshold,” Castiel warned in a flat, serious tone, even as his blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

Dean snickered. He clasped his hands in front of himself, struggling to maintain a straight face, even as Missouri began the ceremony by welcoming their guests in this ‘celebration of love and unity’; even Castiel had to fight off laugh at her words.

They hadn’t even gotten to the ‘I do’s when Jo leaned over Castiel’s shoulder and glared at Dean, glancing from his face to his hands.

“Dean, what the hell is that?” she hissed, gesturing towards him with her bouquet. “I told you not to wear anything stupid?”

“What is it?” Castiel whispered, glancing over his shoulder and Jo and then back to Dean. The man before him didn’t look at all unkempt, dark blonde hair side-parted and swept away from his face, suit neat and tie properly knotted. Dean even had one up on Castiel for that; he had never been able to get a necktie to sit properly, always seeming somewhat askew or, at the worst of times, flipping completely backwards.

“He’s got a Jolly Rancher on his damn cufflinks!” Jo said, clearly annoyed.

Castiel glanced down at the other man’s wrists and frowned; indeed his cufflinks were somewhat unusual, large capsules of some sort made of some bright blue stone, but peering a little closer he could see that it was some sort of blue liquid inside a glass capsule, with tiny white particles floating inside. His eyebrows arched to his hairline when he realized what it was, struggling to hold in the laugh that threatened to bubble past his lips. Dean caught his gaze and in a moment’s time, they were both pressing their lips tight together, eyes dancing with the laughter they fought to hold in.

“What? What is it?” Jo whispered, noting that there was more going on in front of her than she realized.

“Calcium chloride,” Castiel whispered, and Dean let out an audible snort, still trying to keep from completely busting a gut.

Sam could hear them now and arched an eyebrow. “What?” he asked in a hushed tone.  
Dean was snickering now, unable to keep it all in.

“It’s a heparin resistant calcium chloride solution,” Castiel replied, now sporting a full gummy grin. “It’s… it’s an inside joke… thing. I’ll explain later.”

“It’s time for your vows, boys,” Missouri interrupted loudly, causing all four heads standing before her to snap to her direction. “That is, if you two are done giggling at each other.” 

A murmur of laughter rushed through those gathered for the ceremony, and even Sam and Jo had to let out a small laugh. Of course, the ceremony couldn’t be too serious; it was Dean and Cas, after all. They’d be lucky to get through a funeral without one making the other laugh themselves to tears.

Sam nudged Dean from behind. “Dude,” he said in a loud whisper. “You’re first.”

The congregation gave another sweeping round of murmured laughter.

“Huh? Oh,” Dean said, face coloring a little for not the first time that day. “Right, uh,” he went on, clearing his throat. Forcing himself to pretend that there weren’t a good number of his near and dear staring at him, he trained his gaze on his friend and began the vows he had been writing and re-writing for days. 

“Cas… you’re my best friend. You’re… you make me laugh, and you’ve never asked me to be anything but myself. I wouldn’t… there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Everyone’s been telling me for years how lucky I’ve been to know you and, well, I guess it finally started to sink in. You make… you make me better, and that’s not something I could ever turn my back on. Never saw myself ever really gettin’ married but if was gonna be anybody, I guess it would be you.” 

Dean cleared his throat again, flush having grown deeper as he spoke, even while those gathered looked on in surprise. “I promise to be a patient, always honest and compassionate,” Dean continued, breaking into the set of vows that Jo had found for them to use online. “I will be your best friend, always putting you first above my own needs, today and always.”

Castiel stared. “Dean, I…” he began, not quite knowing what to say. They hadn’t planned on saying anything off the cuff, only reciting whatever schmaltz Jo could rustle up for them to memorize.

Dean cast his eyes to the ground, freckles standing out like little pinpoints of color against the dark flush in his cheeks.

“Hey, realism, right?” he mumbled to the floor.

“Right…” Castiel agreed slowly, nodding. He glanced over at Missouri, who was waiting expectantly for him to continue the ceremony, and then back to his waiting groom. 

“Dean, you’re the first person I really got to know after leaving home,” Castiel said honestly. “You have been my constant friend, from the very beginning, kind and faithful to me in a way no one ever had been before. I… I don’t… there’s never been anyone in my life quite like you, and, for that, I am forever grateful. Whatever lies ahead, good or bad, I know that I will always have you there, to face it with me.” He paused, encouraged by the small smile playing on Dean’s lips, and continued on with Jo’s vows. ““I promise to be a patient, always honest and compassionate. I will be your best friend, always putting you first above my own needs, today and always.”

Missouri smiled down at them. “Now, do you boys have your rings?”

Sam had found the rings online, recycled silver made from what he thought might have been the stems of antique serving spoons. They were similar but not exactly alike, both the same pattern but cut and welded just a little bit differently to make them unique, patterned with swirling leaves and fleur de lis. 

If Castiel’s hands were shaking when he placed the ring on Dean’s hand, everyone was polite enough to ignore it. Their kiss was chaste, but sweet; there were more camera flashes than Castiel cared to count, but it wouldn’t matter if he had wanted to keep track. He couldn’t take a count with his eyes closed, after all.

 

Unbeknownst to both grooms, Jo’s mother had offered up their bar for a reception of sorts directly following the ceremony. The place had been heavily decorated with streamers, balloons, and a hand-lettered sign of congratulations. The cake was three-tiered and clearly professionally done, leaving both men astounded.

“You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Castiel said, peering at the miniature plastic groomsmen topping the confection. They were even painted true to the day, one dark haired and blue eyes, and the other dark blonde and green eyed.

Standing beside him, Jo’s mother Ellen smiled the strangely knowing sort of grin that he and Dean had been receiving all day.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” she replied. “Not like we’ll have a chance to throw another one of this shindigs, right?”


	3. Chapter 3

During a spring break trip to Puerto Vallarta during their junior year in college, Castiel had gotten firsthand experience of Dean’s extreme aversion to flying. He had watched as, pale-faced and sweating, Dean spent the entirety of the near six hour flight holding his seat’s armrests in a deathgrip and bordering on hyperventilation. They hadn’t taken a trip since then to any destination that couldn’t be reached from the seats of Dean’s beloved classic car, and Castiel had no intention of putting his friend through another cross-country flight. He hired a car to take them to the nearest train station in Kansas City, and hopped a train to Kingston, Rhode Island. It wasn’t by any means a short trip, but it would get them where they needed to go.

Thankfully, Castiel hadn’t picked up any summer courses to teach, and Dean had amassed such a bank of vacation time that his supervisor at the Kansas City Crime Lab had been more than happy to give him whatever time he needed.

“Hey, it’s not everyday a guy get’s married!” Frank had said when Dean asked, surprisingly cheerful for a man who spent most of his day locked away in his office, staring at computer monitors and muttering conspiracy theories.

“Look, it’s not-” Dean had tried to protest, but his words had been waved off.

“Go on, go on,” Frank replied, turning back towards his office.

 

Castiel had spared no expense on transportation, much to Dean’s chagrin. After a transfer and brief layover in Chicago, they were brought into a superliner suite. It was as small and cramped as Dean had thought it would be, but the single sleeping area, narrow as it was, had two pillows.

After stowing his luggage away and checking out the tiny bathroom attached to their suite, Dean gave Castiel a sympathetic glance and turned back towards the bed, a nervous chuckle bubbling out of his chest.

“I guess we gotta get used to this anyway, right?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He and Castiel were by no means small, each carrying a height over six feet and a decent amount of muscle on their bones. A normal sized bed, even something as small as a double, would at least afford them enough room to keep a respectable distance. 

The miniscule amount of space that tiny sleeper berth afforded them would be keeping them in very close quarters.

“It’s not as though we haven’t slept together before, Dean,” Castiel pointed out, pushing his rolling suitcase beneath the bed with a low grunt.

“Yeah, but that was different,” Dean said, frowning. “Passing out drunk together in a dorm room or sharing a tent going camping ain’t the same thing as bedding down like this, man.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel told him, a troubled look clouding his features. “I would have gotten us separate suites, but I was afraid my brother would try and access our travel records, and…”

“Cas, man, it’s okay,” Dean said quickly, not wanting his friend to feel any more guilty over the situation than he already did. “Gotta play nice, make it look real. I get it, I do. Just sayin’... I mean… are we even gonna fit?”

Castiel shrugged and stifled a yawn. They had been traveling since early that morning, and though it had just fallen dark outside, he was exhausted. The past few days had been both anxious and exhilarating, a constant pumping of adrenaline in his veins from both the excitement of the lie and the fear of getting caught.

“We could test it out,” he offered and yawned again before pulling off his coat and tossing it over a chair.

Dean snorted. “C’mon Cas, really? It’s not even past seven o’clock.”

“What do you want? I’m tired,” Castiel replied with a shrug, and kicked his shoes off before climbing into the bed and scooting over to the far side.

Dean shook his head, pulling off his leather jacket and hanging it neatly on a hook behind the door. He paused to turn the latch, securing their compartment from any outside intrusion, and moved to sit and pull off his boots.

“I married an old man,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

“No, you married an exhausted man,” Castiel replied, eyes already closed. “Now come to bed with your husband, Dean.”

Dean snorted again and climbed onto the bed, listening to it creak and groan as he tried to get settled. Even with Castiel pressing himself against the far wall in attempt to afford Dean more room, they were nearly nose to nose. They laid stock still a long moment before the discomfort set in, and they began moving about, trying to find a way to get comfortable.

“Dean, could you scoot over just a little…?”

“I do that and I’m on the floor, Cas.”

“Oh. Perhaps if you turn onto your side, and I…”

“What?! You’re not spooning me, man!”

“Well at least move your arm.”

“Why don’t you move back a little?”

“I’m up against the wall, Dean.”

“Oh. So… maybe if we both go on our side, back to back…?”

“God, no. You kick back too much in your sleep, remember Yellowstone? I think I still have the bruises on my shins from that…”

“Hey, we were camping. Y’think I’m not gonna sleep in my boots? What if we had to run from a hungry bear in the middle of the night?”

“I hardly think we were in danger of being eaten by bears. Besides, how fast-”

“Jesus, Cas, get your bony elbow out of my ribs, will ya?”

“If you had just moved over like I suggested-”

“Moved where? There’s nowhere to move. This is all the bed we got to work with here.”

The sleeper berth mattress creaked and groaned as they moved, not made for such athletic settling; the springs squeaked and the plastic mattress cover voiced its objections with whining squeals from the press of the crisp white sheets as they moved. With all of their shuffling adjustments, they found themselves somehow closer together than they had started, face to face and a hairsbreadth apart from one another.

Castiel found that he had underestimated the strangeness of the situation. Drunken sprawling and close-quarters camping had nothing on this, the feeling of laying close enough to feel the heat of Dean’s breath on his face and make out each individual mark in the other man’s myriad of freckles. He could smell Dean’s cologne, a woody, leathery scent that was as familiar as it was appealing, seeming more beckoning now, even more enticing with Dean pressed so close to him.

He felt his pulse speed up, surprised by such a reaction to someone he had known for what seemed like forever. Opening his mouth to speak, Castiel found he had no words; he watched a Dean watched him, deep green eyes clicking back and forth from Castiel’s own eyes to his lips and then back again. Dean licked his lips, and Castiel couldn’t help but follow the movement, watching a soft pink tongue flick out to wet a pair of plush, plump lips that seemed far too inviting in that moment.

Castiel was struck by the sudden memory of a road trip they had taken to the Grand Canyon, years ago, when they were fresh out of college and the world had seemed an endless road of possibility stretched out before them. He had peered over the edge of the cliff, transfixed by the deepness of the gorge. He had been afraid of the fall, but still feeling a strange desperation in the pit of his stomach, wanting to know what it was to fly.

He felt that now, body tingling and leaving him breathless.

The sudden sound of a compressed spring bouncing open within the tortured mattress echoed through the room, a loud and obnoxious _SPRONG!_ noise that made both men jump.

Dean barked out a laugh, loud and long, and it set off Castiel, who was soon collapsed against the back wall of the sleeper berth, clutching at his stomach even as he was wracked with chuckles that had first grown deeper and deeper until he lost voice completely, silently shaking even as tears of laughter slipped down his cheeks. Dean was laughing just as hard, face gone beet red with it, taking great snorting breaths of air through his nose as he tried to calm himself. 

By the time they stopped, the moment, whatever it had been, had passed, and they were both left even more tired and worn than they had been when they first attempted to get comfortable. Without another word, they each drifted off to sleep, curled towards each other on the thin mattress.

 

The next morning seemed decidedly less awkward as they woke and readied themselves to arrive in Rhode Island. The train would take them to Kingston, and from there a car would be waiting to take them to Castiel’s family estate. It was a little more pretentious than Dean was used to; his family had a home, not an estate, after all. In all the years they had known each other, Castiel had spoke very little of his family, save mention of an errant sibling here and there. 

Dean knew that Castiel’s parents had been aging hippies, and that they had died in a car accident some six years prior. They had adopted all of their many children, Castiel being the second youngest and his little sister Hael the baby of the family. They’d had a complicated relationship with the Catholicism that Castiel’s father had been raised in, choosing to bring their children up in the church only so far and allowing them to decide if they wanted to continue.

Castiel had dropped out just making his Confirmation, though Dean knew that several of his siblings, most likely under the influence of their fervently religious Uncle Zachariah, had become quite devout. Dean had a feeling that would lead to some problems in the long run; Castiel had been favored by his uncle for his choice of study, but the older man could not have been pleased with his decision to cease Sunday worship entirely.

It made the impetus of the strange clause in the old man’s will make a little more sense in that respect, and his choice of Raphael as executor a bit more irritating. Castiel’s older brother had earned his uncle’s disapproval when he turned his back on his intended seminary studies and instead focused his academic career on the business world. As Castiel told it, Raphael had made a fortune in the stock market but remained as stringently devout as their uncle had been, returning each Sunday to Zachariah’s beloved Our Lady of the Angels church for mass. He was even on the parish board, Castiel had said, making his interest in disproving Castiel’s claims of honoring his uncle’s wishes even more ardent than it might have been.

 

The car waiting for them at the Kingston station wasn’t a taxi, as it had been back in Kansas City, but rather a late model black Lincoln Towncar. The driver nodded at them, seemingly having recognized Castiel, and took their luggage to store in the trunk, after opening the door for them to slide into the backseat. Dean all at once felt out of place in his jeans and leather jacket, but Castiel seemed completely nonplussed, causing his friend and new spouse to arch an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Uh, Cas?” he asked slowly, after their ride had progressed for a good twenty minutes or so in silence. Dean had noticed the houses along the road becoming further and further set back from the road and spread much more apart; they looked huge, and it seemed that they had turned down a private road somewhere in the twists and turns the driver had been taking.

“Yes, Dean?” the other man replied.

“So by ‘family estate’,” Dean said, “You mean an actual… you know… estate?”

Castiel nodded. “Holly House was built in the late 19th century, by my ancestor, Matthias Goode,” he said, absentmindedly picking at a frayed strand of denim on the belt loop of his jeans. “Summer cottage for his wife. Has something like… oh, sixty or so rooms. The family opens it up for tours when we’re not using it.”

Dean gaped. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “So you’re, what, like, a Rockefeller or something?”

“A fair comparison,” Castiel agreed simply. “My great-great-aunt Gertrude was a Rockefeller. Uncle Zachariah preferred to compare us to the Vanderbilts, though. Older money, he said.”

Dean leaned back in his seat and shook his head; he had known Castiel’s family to be somewhat wealthy, but this was on a level even he hadn’t imagined.

“Awesome,” he muttered. “I’m a freakin’ gold-digger.”


	4. Chapter 4

Standing in the front hall of the massive house, Dean glanced around at the opulent furnishings and did his best not to gape. He had seen places like this in films and those not quite educational shows on cable that liked to talk about the excess of the robber barons of yore; he was marginally certain he had seen this exact place, now that he thought about it, on an episode of America’s Castles he watched on a rainy Saturday afternoon, when his cable offerings had been little more than televised golf or Kardashian marathons.

The room was massive, the floor comprised of individually cut grey marble squares in various sized, fitted together in a pattern that looked all at once haphazard and delicately planned. The ceiling was two stories high, with twin chandeliers made of brass and crystal flanking a staircase that disappeared into an intricately carved woodwork arch. The second story balconies looked out into the hall from above, and doors and archways leading only god knew where lined the floor level walls. Everything was decked in crystal and stained glass, brass and marble, carved stone and wood stained dark and bright. 

Even the air seemed expensive; Dean realized after a moment that he had been holding his breath.

He let it out with a long exhale, then turned to Castiel with a put-upon expression.

“Cottage,” he said, eyes narrowed at the other man.

“Hmm?” Castiel responded, glancing back towards Dean with wide, innocent eyes. He had been distracted, taking in the familiar surroundings and traipsing back through the varied memories he held of the place over the years.

“ _Cottage_?!” Dean repeated, voice lowering in volume but gaining rasp and annoyance.

“I wasn’t being facetious, Dean,” Castiel responded, squinting and cocking his head to the side as he spoke. “It is the common term. All of the great houses of Newport are considered ‘cottages’.”

Dean let out a low whistle and glanced around the huge front hall. “Crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “I could fit my whole apartment in this room.”

A small smirk came to Castiel’s lips, and he nudged Dean with his elbow.

“You think this is big? You should see the Scottish estate. It’s an actual castle.”

 

Dean gaped, but any response he might have made was interrupted by the arrival of a stocky man in a dark suit. He had a mean, calculating look about his face, with thinning dark hair and piercing hooded eyes, a shadow of stubble on his face already in the early afternoon.

“Master Castiel,” he said slowly, whiskey-soaked voice carrying a distinctly British accent. “Welcome home to Holly House.”

Castiel nodded at the man, but didn’t smile. “Crowley,” he said by way of greeting.

“We have you staying in the Blue Room, sir,” Crowley went on, and snapped his fingers at a pair of men standing nearby that Dean hadn’t even noticed. They too wore suits, but of a cheaper design; Crowley’s was clearly tailored, his black dress shirt and tie setting him apart from the others. The others came forward quickly, spiriting away the luggage that had been piled at Dean and Castiel’s feet.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Castiel responded. There was an coldness to his tone, uncharacteristic of the usually kind man. “This is my husband, Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Crowley; he is the butler and chief of staff here at Holly House.”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Crowley said, bowing towards Dean with his hands clasped in front of him. “I had been told of your recent nuptials, Master Castiel. Congratulations to you both, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Master Dean. I am sure you will find Holly House to your liking.”

“Uh… thanks?” Dean offered, offering the most polite nod he could manage. He was clearly out of his element.

Turning back to Castiel, Crowley gave another nod. “If there is nothing else, sir…?”

“You are dismissed,” Castiel replied blandly, and watched the man leave with a cold, calculated expression.

He could feel Dean’s questioning gaze upon him, and turned to explain as soon as the butler was out of earshot.

“Crowley’s mother worked for my grandparents,” he explained, lowering his voice in case there were anyone nearby who might want to listen in. “I’ve never liked him. He seems… there’s just something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t trust him.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah he did seem kinda… slimey,” he offered.

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, you noticed it too,” he said, smiling gently at the corners of his mouth. “I was afraid you’d think I was some sort of spoiled trust fund kid, being mean to the help.”

“Hey, if I thought you were gonna be some stuck-up rich kid, I’d never have married you,” Dean replied with a brilliant smile, the cheerfulness and teasing in his tone drawing a full-on grin from Castiel. “Why don’t you give me the dime tour of the place, honey?” he drawled, winking at Castiel on the term of endearment.

Castiel liked that idea very much, and opened his mouth to say as much, but lost any chance to speak when a loud voice echoed across the front hall of the mansion.

“Castiel! Dear brother, we’re so glad you’ve arrived!” a slim redhead called loudly. She wore a short pleated athletic skirt and white sweater, and was swinging a tennis racket in her hand as she walked, clean white sneakers making no sound as she stepped across the marble floor.

A younger, shorter woman walked beside her, long dark hair pulled back in a straight ponytail, wide blue eyes dancing with amusement. She too carried a tennis racket, dressed similarly to the other woman, wearing a white pleated skirt and a sweater in soft canary yellow.

“Yes, simply marvelous to see you again, darling,” she added in a haughty voice. She held the silence for a beat before glancing at the redhead, and the two of them burst into a fit of girlish giggles.

They set upon Castiel together, hugging him tightly and each kissing one of his cheeks, leaving lipstick smears in varied shades of red. Castiel hugged them back and laughed.

“Dean, these are my sisters,” he explained. “Anna,” he went on, nodded towards the redhead, “And Hael. Ladies, this is my… Dean.” He had stuttered, feeling awful for lying to his sisters; he had always been closer with them than with any of his brothers, and the act of deceiving them hurt, even if it were for a greater cause; he had already told Dean that, should he receive the inheritance as planned, he would be sharing it among the rest of the family.

“Ooh, your very own Dean, how nice!” Anna teased.

Hael made a great show of taking sweeping steps around them, finally nodding to herself. 

“Nice choice, Cas,” she declared, and swatted Dean on the backside with her tennis racquet.

He jumped and yelped. “Hey! Hands off the merchandise ladies,” he said, and held up his left hand, wiggling his ring finger. “I’m spoken for, remember?”

“And don’t you forget it,” Anna told him, narrowing her eyes and pointing a finger at him as she spoke. “Hell hath no fury like the sister of a Goode boy scorned. Remember that, buddy.”

“You’re the forensics expert,” Hael added, stepping out from behind him. “We won’t leave any evidence. Use your imagination.”

Dean snorted. “Not that I’m not flattered, but how do you even know what I do for a living?” he asked.

“Oh, Cassie’s been yammering on about you for years,” Anna replied, pinching her brother’s cheek as she spoke, much to his chagrin.

“Honestly,” Hael agreed with a roll of her bright blue eyes. “We always sort of figured you two were bangin’, we just thought we might, you know, actually get invited to the wedding!”

“Hey! That’s right!” Anna said, and it was suddenly Castiel’s turn to be paddled with a tennis racquet. “You! Great! Big! Jerk!” she said with each swat of the racquet. “I wanted a chance to catch the bouquet, or garter, or whatever it is you threw! And we all would have loved to watch Raph’s head slowly implode.”

Hael gave a deep snorting laugh that very much reminded Dean of her brother.

“Oh, man, can you imagine?” she said, holding her stomach with her free hand. “I bet it’d be like in Scanners, you know?”

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh at that, reaching and lacing his fingers through Dean’s. 

“I think the wedding went well enough without the blood spatter and flying brain matter,” he told his sisters.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, leaning into Castiel’s shoulder even as they held hands. “Besides, I see that stuff and my first instinct is to break out the hazmat suit and Luminol, ya know?”

“Oh, look at us,” Anna said, glancing down at where her brother clasped his husband’s hand. “Holding up the newlyweds. Why don’t you two go get settled in your room?”

“We can get all caught up at dinner,” Hael suggested, nodding. “We want to hear all about the wedding!”

 

Dean was certain they’d walked at least half a mile before Castiel stopped in front of an indistinct door in a hallway lined with many of the same. Holly House was huge; Dean feared he would never be able to navigate it without Castiel at his side, though in truth he had no intention of venturing out on his own. He was the stranger here and for all of his good-natured ways, he felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Here we are,” Castiel announced, unlocking bedroom door with a skeleton key had retrieved from Crowley and pushing it open.

Dean glanced over his shoulder as he followed, looking back at the hallway and its red brocade wallpaper, brass fitted light fixtures, miles of plush carpet, and wall after all of artwork.

“How can you tell?” he muttered, more to himself than Castiel.

Castiel chuckled softly. “You get the hang of it pretty quickly. My parents used to bring us here once a year, to visit with the family.”

Once inside, Dean understood immediately why their suite was called the Blue Room. The walls were decked in delicately patterned wallpaper, white embossed lace bedecked with dainty blue cornflower blossoms and thin winding green stems and leaves. The furniture was huge and hulking, but surprisingly light in color; blonde wood dressers, a large wardrobe and vanity, and the largest four-poster bed Dean had ever seen. The canopy was in the same shade of blue as the flowers on the wallpaper and the bedding was just a shade darker, with dozens of pillows in different shades of the same color propped against the head of the bed. 

Twin armchairs in powder blue damask sat across from a fireplace, carved in the same blonde wood as the furnishings but patterned inside with blue and white tiles that Dean was certain were of a famous maker, though he couldn’t remember it by name. The house was cool, the early summer bringing no significant warmth to the eastern coast that year, and a fire was already crackling in the grate.

“Damn,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Guess we don’t have to worry about crowding each other out in that bed, huh?”

Castiel stretched, cracking his back. “Thank god for small favors,” he replied. “I’m surprised either of us could stand up straight, after that mattress last night.”

The formal decor seemed of little importance to Castiel; he kicked off his shoes and jumped onto the bed, settling back onto the pillows with a pleased sigh. 

Dean moved about more slowly, toeing off his boots beside the wardrobe; when he peeked inside, he saw his suitcase was there, unpacked. All of his clothes were hanging inside, and they looked neatly pressed. Castiel’s were right beside his.

He gave a low whistle, shook his head and ran his fingertips over the fine grain of the wood. He wasn’t exactly an expert in antiques, but his job required him to identify texture and age on sight. He knew everything in the room had to be a century old, at the least. 

Dean gingerly climbed onto the bed next to Castiel, whose breathing had already gone deep and even. The trip out to Newport had been exhausting, in spite of the comforts offered by their accommodations on the train and the drive to the mansion. The lure of a nap was one that even Dean couldn’t resist and he turned on his side, facing Castiel as he joined him in slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel slept well and deep, cradled against a small mountain of pillows atop the bed. He couldn’t recall his dreams in waking, only that they had been pleasant and sweet, and had left him waking with a smile on his face. It had grown dark in their suite, only the last flickering embers of the fire in the grate left to cast a warm glow, the sun having made its descent behind the line of tall pine trees and overgrown holly bushes that had given the sprawling house its name. 

He drew in a deep breath as he opened his eyes, smiling a little to see Dean laying beside him, face free and clear of the stress that seemed to dog him most days. Castiel knew his friend’s younger years, long before they had met, hadn’t been easy, but things had evened out quite well for both Dean and his brother; he supposed it was difficult for Dean to let go of the walls he had put up to protect himself over the years. Like this, though, face innocent and bereft of any sort of worry, he looked so much younger than he did by day, wearing forced smiles and creased brows. 

Dean opened his eyes as Castiel watched and blinked sleepily once, then twice, before he cast a lazy smile at Castiel.

“This bed is awesome,” he relented, voice sleep-rough and deep.

Castiel smiled, a full-on grin that only surfaced when he was relaxed enough to let down his guard, drunk on good rest or good liquor.

“Holly House is one of the only Newport cottages in regular use still,” he told Dean. “Crowley updates the mattresses, linens, and all of that every couple years.”

Dean took a slow breath, surveying his old friend for a long moment before speaking. It was strange, to find this whole new side to someone he had thought he had known so well.

“I don’t get it, Cas,” he finally said. “If you got a stake in this place, why this whole thing we’re doing for the inheritance? Why do you live in a tiny little house, teach junior college, and all that?”

Castiel shook his head, best as someone could when laying on their side, pressed into a nest of soft pillows.

“This isn’t me, Dean,” he explained. “My family… my brothers and sisters… we have nothing. My parents were cut off before any of us were even born. We have access to the house by lineage but apart from that, we’re not involved. The family estates are held in some kind of trust, one of my cousins oversees it these days. All any of my parents’ children get by virtue of the Goode name is access to the estates and the right to burial in the family vault.”

“So Anna, and Hael…?” Dean asked.

Castiel gave half a smile. “Anna pushes paper at some kind of plastics company outside of Cincinnati. Hael just finished up her schooling and starts teaching in the fall. Kindergarten, I think it is. Gabriel -- you know him, you met him after I had my gallbladder out, remember? -- he works in a bakery not far from where Anna lives. Michael is a lawyer but he’s an underling at his firm, Uriel manages some kind of club in Boston, and Raphael, well… he’s done well enough for himself, but we’ve always had the feeling he stepped on a lot of people to get where he is.”

“So, what, are you guys like the black sheep?” Dean asked curiously. That was a feeling he knew quite well; his father’s extended family had been all but nonexistent, but his mother’s side of the family, the Campbells, had treated Dean and his brother as though they were outcasts. He had always been somewhat shocked that his kind, sweet mother had come from a clan of survivalists living nearly off the grid; last Dean heard, his cousin Christian had repurposed an abandoned missile silo into a survival bunker and lived there, waiting for a government insurrection.

All in all, Dean thought he’d rather be the poor relations of a snotty rich family than cousin to militia-styled doomsday preppers.

Castiel’s expression darkened. “No, not quite,” he admitted. “We’re all more towards grey than black sheep, by virtue of my oldest brother.”

“Lucifer,” Dean filled in, and Castiel snorted.

“That is what we tend to call him, yes,” he agreed. “Though his name is actually Lucien. He was… troubled, as a child. He was the first of us that my parents adopted, and he was already four years old.”

“Had some problems already?” Dean asked. Castiel didn’t speak much of his family, least of all his eldest brother; Dean understood that some things just weren’t for sharing, and never pressed on the topic.

God knew there were things he had never told Castiel, after all.

The dark haired man nodded again. “They suspected there had been abuse, though it was never proven,” he said, voice dropping a note with the sadness it carried. “These days, we tend to think it was a form of Reactive Attachment Disorder. He wanted very much to be loved, and to love… I just think he never could quite grasp how to do it. He is… quite wealthy, these days, I am told, though not by any legitimate means. Haven’t seen him in years; doubt any of us will again.”

Castiel could see his heartbreak over the loss of his brother mirrored in Dean’s eyes as he spoke; it was one of the many reasons that Dean had become such a dear friend, the way he could read what Castiel was feeling, even when he was unable to truly say it himself.   
“I can’t imagine how rough that has to be on you, man,” Dean said, brow furrowed in concern. “Me and Sammy butt heads a lot but… I mean, you know me. Kid’s one of the most important things to me, ya know?”

Castiel smiled. “I always rather admired that about you, Dean.”

The other man blushed slightly, casting his eyes downward even as a small smile played at his lips; that was another long-held truth about Dean Winchester, Castiel thought to himself. The man was too embarrassed to take a compliment, no matter how true it might be.

Dean cleared his throat and rolled onto his back, arching gently against the bed to work out a touch of stiffness.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awesome,” he said in an offhand way, and Castiel couldn’t help the fond smile that came to his lips at the sound.

Same old Dean, no matter the circumstance.

“Hey, you and your sister kinda look alike,” Dean offered suddenly, deftly changing the subject, as he was wont to do when things became too emotional or real for his liking. “Hael, I mean. Big ol’ baby blues, and all.”

Castiel repeated Dean’s actions, stretching against the pillows and rolling onto his back to stare up at the canopy drapes.

“Makes sense,” he responded. “She is my sister after all.”

Dean snorted and nudged the other man with his elbow. “I don’t know what they taught you in biology man, but that shit don’t work across adopted siblings the way it does otherwise.”

Castiel propped himself up on his elbows and turned to look at Dean, genuinely surprised.

“Oh,” he said, taken aback. “Did I never tell you? Hael and I, and Michael too, actually. We’re blood siblings, half anyway. We all had the same birth mother.”

Dean turned on his side to face Castiel, surprised. 

“No shit?” he said. “Huh. Well that had to be cool, I guess. Sorta, knowin’ where you came from and whatever. You guys any closer, you think, cos of that?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Castiel confessed. He turned back on his side to face Dean. “I suppose I do look after Hael a bit more than the others, but she is the youngest.... though Michael did dote on me as a child, I suppose. It never really mattered among us, except to maybe Lucife… Lucien. He wanted that, the familiarity of it, I suppose. He was jealous of us, and of Gabriel and Anna… they share a birth mother as well.”

Dean frowned. “How does that even happen? Weren’t the rest of you all babies when you got adopted?”

“Yes, through Catholic Charities,” Castiel explained, propping himself up on one elbow as he spoke. “They try to keep multiple siblings together, so if a mother comes back with another pregnancy, they will try to place the infant with their sibling. Of course, my parents would never turn down another child, so the family grew as it did, even as we went broke for all the fees and donations the Church required to facilitate the adoptions.”

Dean smiled. “They sound like they were pretty cool, Cas,” he said. “Wish we’d’ve found time for me to meet’em before they died.”

“I would have liked that too,” Castiel agreed, smiling softly to himself. “I believe they would have liked you very much, Dean. They spoke so highly of you as it was, just having heard about you from me. They were very glad I’d made such a good friend.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, the tenderness of it bringing about a quiet calm that they didn’t often find together, before Dean picked up one of the smaller pillows at his side and walloped Castiel in the face with it.

Castiel spluttered. “Really?” he asked, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

“Hey, it’s not the kind of pillow talk I was expectin’,” Dean countered with a wink, drawing more laughter out of his friend.

 

In spite of the unexpected serious tone to the conversation, Castiel realized it was probably all for the best. He didn’t speak much on his family, not the way Dean did, drawing everyone he held dear close to him and holding them there for as long as he could. It was more difficult for Castiel, who had struck out on his own with his parents encouragement, only to lose them far too quickly afterwards.

Still, Dean needed to know these things. Raphael would be relentless in testing their relationship, he was sure of it; the more Dean could speak on the Goode family history, the better.

“It’s for the best,” Castiel offered. “Married couples should know these things about one another, after all.”

“True,” Dean agreed, and let his eyes flutter shut again, relaxing against the pillows. “Hey, since we’re newlyweds and all,” he offered, eyes still closed, “D’ya think we can get away with not leaving this bed for the rest of the night?”

“As comfortable as it is, Dean, I do think you will be wanting to eat at some point,” Castiel pointed out with a sigh. It did sound a little too alluring, just spending the rest of the evening folded up among the pillows and linens, relaxing there until morning, but Castiel knew they were expected at dinner that night.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, Dean’s stomach gave a slow rumble, drawing both of them into laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

They both got up and started puttering around the room, searching out cleaner, less traveled and sleep rumpled clothing, and murmuring back and forth about what was to come. They moved in concert, dancing around one another in the perfectly coordinated manner that only came from many years cohabiting, sharing small living spaces and even smaller bathrooms. It had been some three years since Castiel had woke up one morning and decided that he was an adult and should be looking for space of his own, buying a small house mere blocks from the apartment he had shared with Dean since their college days. For his part, Dean had been content to stay put, turning the newly vacated room into a combination office and guest room, the pull out couch occasionally used by his younger brother but most often by Castiel himself, when it was too late to be bothered driving home, or they had been drinking too many beers, or whatever number of the myriad excuses they had seemed fitting.

Dean pawed through his suitcase, searching for something dinner appropriate, tossing the small leather travel case his brother had gifted him several Christmases ago over his shoulder, where it was soundly caught by Castiel. They had discovered the night on the train that Castiel had neglected to pack any toothpaste, and being terribly particular about the brand and flavor he preferred, it seemed best to share that which Dean had brought, since Castiel’s peculiarities when it came to dental hygiene had long since worn off on him.

Castiel plucked the tube of Close-Up Anticavity Fluoride Cinnamon Gel Toothpaste from Dean’s bag, (“Not the whitening paste, Dean, it’s not good for you, always get the gel,” as Castiel had always said) and laid the bag itself and the rest of Dean’s toiletries on the bathroom counter. He glanced at the mirror to see Dean still picking through his luggage.

“Wear anything, Dean, it’s not formal,” he called through a mouthful of cinnamon foam.

“Easy for you to say, Cas,” Dean replied, still frowning at his clothing. He had packed the jeans with the worn-out hole in the knee, and he was pretty sure the collar was frayed on more than one of his shirts. He hadn’t quite expected such an opulent setting, after all.

Castiel spit into the sink. “The grey henley, then,” he offered.

“I feel like I should be wearing a suit,” Dean grumbled, not turning to face the other man as he spoke.

Castiel rinsed his mouth and wiped away the remnants of the toothpaste foam with a hand towel monogrammed with an intricate design of a capital letter G surrounded by holly leaves, not even paying attention to it as he tossed it back over his shoulder and on to the counter.

“No one is going to be wearing a suit,” he said, shaking his head. With a gentle shove, he shooed Dean away from his suitcase and picked through the surprisingly neat pile of folded clothes until he found the shirt he had spoke of, a long sleeved henley-style shirt made of soft cotton material in slate grey. It tended to bring out the lighter tones of Dean’s green eyes, and fitted snugly against his form in an attractive way - not that Castiel had ever noticed.

He held it aloft and shook out the wrinkles from time spent cramped inside Dean’s battered suitcase, then turned it held it up to the other man’s chest as if surveying how it might fit.

“There,” Castiel said, nodding. “Wear it with your dark jeans. That will work.”

Dean snorted, peering down at the shirt held up to his chest. 

“What, you givin’ out fashion advice, Cas?” he asked with a laugh. “You’ve been wearing the same trenchcoat to work for like six years and you still haven’t figured out how to tie your own tie.”

“Shut up and put the shirt on, Winchester,” Castiel told him, knocking their shoulders together as he walked past to begin rummaging in his own bag for something a little fresher to wear.

Dean was still chuckling to himself across the room and Castiel shook his head, trying not to smile; he could still remember the horrified look on the other man’s face the first day of their second college semester, when they’d transferred into a dorm together and Dean saw him attempting to leave for his morning English seminar in a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt.

He’d made it to class late that day, wearing the only pair of jeans he owned and a borrowed t-shirt bearing the name of a band he had never heard of before. Castiel had been surprised how much easier it had been to speak to his new classmates that day, and a few trips to local thrift stores later had bought him an entirely new wardrobe.

He turned his head, smile on his face, to ask if Dean remembered that moment from their shared past, but the words died on his lips almost immediately. Paying no mind to their closeness, Dean had simply turned away and started to strip, peeling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it onto the bed. 

Castiel didn’t know why, but he found that he couldn’t drag his gaze away. He watched the smooth movement of muscles on Dean’s back, miles of softly tanned skin dusted in faded freckles and a million other marks and tiny scars that seemed to tell the story of their friendship as much as they drew Castiel in, each attached to a different memory. 

He didn’t realize he was staring until he heard the metallic sound of Dean’s zipper. Castiel took a surprised step backwards and flushed, quickly averting his view as Dean’s battered jeans hit the carpeted floor, exposing a backside clad in navy blue boxer-briefs.

“Really, Dean?” he asked, deadpan tone to his gruff voice belying the sudden warmth he felt, mixture of attraction and abject shame for stealing a peek at his best friend of all people.

“What?” Dean responded, and followed with an annoyed huff. “Jeez, Cas, I’ll pick’em up when I’m done changing, Christ,” he went on, and Castiel was suddenly relieved to find that Dean was speaking on his clothing scattered about the floor and not his impromptu striptease.

Not that it should even seem that way, Castiel mentally chided himself. It wasn’t as though seeing Dean stripped down to his skivvies was a new phenomenon for Castiel; the two had shared living space for the better part of a decade, after all, and he’d more than once had to toss an inebriated Dean into a shower stall fully clothed, only to strip him down before throwing him into bed.

Dean had returned the favor on more than one occasion, as it had happened.

Castiel shook his head, and starting pulling fresher clothing from his own suitcase. Clearly, his neglected libido was getting the better of him; it had been far too long since he had slept with a warm body beside him, and clearly the recent close quarters with his old friend was beginning to play tricks on Castiel’s mind. He sighed and made a mental note to at least try and get back out on the dating scene when he got home; he’d been shying away from it all too much lately, too tired of trying and too burned out on bad first dates.

He had just decided on a cleaner pair of jeans and a plain button down shirt, reaching to pull them from his suitcase, when Dean’s t-shirt came sailing through the air, landing over his head.

“Is that more to your liking, Master Castiel?” Dean called out, and Castiel could practically hear the teasing grin in his voice, much that he couldn’t see with the soft cotton fabric over his eyes. 

The shirt was still warm, Dean’s body heat soaked through into the soft fabric. Though they had dressed early that morning, it didn’t seem at all soiled, just worn and wrinkled and comfortable in a strange, sleepy sort of way. It was scented with Dean’s cologne, the underlying aromas of body and sweat, not pungent or off-putting, simply there, in the way a pliant body pressed against another might make itself known. Castiel didn’t even realize he had taken in a slow deep breath until Dean was lifting the cloth from over his eyes and peering at him quizzically.

“You still half asleep there or what?” he asked, amusement clearly fluttering about in his eyes.

Castiel frowned. “Don’t throw your laundry at me,” he countered, and tossed the shirt back at Dean as he turned to dress.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel cleared his throat and tried to clear his head in the process, focusing on the familiar task of changing his clothes and not the rustling noises of his friend doing the same behind him. Dinner with his family would be bad enough without all of the weirdly inappropriate thoughts about Dean clogging up his brain, after all.

“My parents were Joshua and Layla,” Castiel spoke in an even tone, running through the basic facts about his family that Raphael was sure to ask.

“I know that,” Dean replied with a roll of his eyes. “They met at a campus poetry reading. Your mom’s parents didn’t approve, but she told them to piss off and married him anyway.”

A smile ghosted over Castiel’s lips at the thought of it; Layla Goode had been a quiet, soft-spoken woman who had rarely raised her voice or argued, so when she did, it was with good reason. He had often grinned over the thought of his gentle, sweet mother so brazenly disregarding her parents’ admittedly prejudiced concerns; part of him still wished he could have seen it with his own eyes. He paused a moment and reached into his suitcase, deciding to add a pullover sweater to his outfit; the cavernous old house could get chilly in the evenings.

“My father was adopted, so he and my mother decided they’d do the same,” Castiel went on, nervously fidgeting with a stray thread on his sweater. “First Lucife… Lucien, then Michael, Raphael, Ga…”

“Gabriel, Anna, Uriel, you, and then Hael, the baby,” Dean filled in. He stretched a moment before pulling the suggested Henley over his head and sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, watching Castiel putter around the room. “Got a little Biblical with the names here and there, cos your mother said every new baby was an angel to your family. Except Lucian, who arrived with a name, and Anna, who was named for your mother’s sister that died when they were kids.”

“Right,” Castiel agreed with a quick nod. “Since you have barely met anyone, I doubt you’d be expected to know much beyond that. Now, as for you and I…”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I know that side of the story,” he responded dryly. 

Castiel frowned. “I wish you would take this more seriously, Dean,” he replied; he decided the frayed sweater just wouldn’t do and stripped it off, the residual static from the knitted fabric sending his hair pointing up every which way and drawing a smile from Dean, who did his best to tamp it down and look serious.

He sat forward on the bed, hands clasped in front of him. “C’mon, Cas,” he said. “If you’re so worried about convincing people, all of this overthinking things is gonna blow the lid off it real quick. I know you. I know you. Better’n just about anybody, ‘cept maybe Sam. We lived under the same roof for how long? Shit, we could go on The Newlywed Game and win the grand prize. Calm your ass down.”

Castiel, apparently, could not calm his ass down.

He started searching through his suitcase, looking for another sweater, or anything more appropriate to wear to dinner. In all truth, he just needed something to do with his hands; his nerves were amped up enough that he’d be pacing and wringing them if he didn’t keep himself occupied.

“We should have brought pictures, a photo album, something,” he spoke up, chiding himself as well as Dean for their lax approach to the entire affair. “Who gets married and doesn’t have photos to show off? Or a video? Honestly, we didn’t think any of this through, I can’t believe we’re--”

“Jesus, Cas, what did I tell you? Calm down, man. I got it covered,” Dean interrupted. He went to his own suitcase and retrieved a small tablet computer in a black leather case, holding it aloft so Castiel could see. “From Sam. Said it was a ‘wedding gift’,” he said with a snort.

Castiel frowned. “How does this help?” he asked, eyes narrowed, and Dean rolled his own in return. He moved closer to the other man and opened the case, jabbing a finger at the touch screen keypad -- the code being their actual wedding date, no less, Sam’s little joke -- to unlock it and explain.

“He got photos from everybody who was there,” Dean explained, paging through a few of the selections. There they were in Missouri’s church, standing before the altar; there was the kiss they had shared, Jo whooping in the background. Walking down the aisle, the surprise on their faces when they saw their reception, cutting the cake, everything was there. “Pretty much documents the whole thing, even has video of us dancing, man. We’re covered.”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped as he breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against Dean as he flicked through a few of the photos himself. He hadn’t realize anyone had brought a camera, let alone pooled their photos together to create the little archive Dean had brought along. He felt a little less nervous, the butterflies in his stomach downgraded to a flurry from their former hurricane levels.

“See?” Dean repeated, one hand still holding the tablet and the other inexplicably reaching to rub a soothing circle in the middle of Castiel’s back. “Told you we’re covered.”

As if on cue at the touch, Castiel’s butterflies kicked back into high gear, and he sighed. It was going to be a very, very long night.

 

Dinner was about as awkward as they had expected. Raphael sat at the head of the table, lording over his siblings in an expensively cut suit, much to Dean’s chagrin.  
“No suits, huh Cas?” he whispered to the other man, and received an elbow in his side as payment.

Castiel knew that Raphael was trying to make them uncomfortable; he had pulled out all the stops, had the table dressed with the finest dinnerware in the house, and organized an elaborate meal of several courses. It was showing off, to some degree, but also a subtle jab at Castiel and his chosen husband for their more austere lifestyles.

They spoke little during the meal. Raphael asked no questions and Castiel offered him nothing, making only light conversation with his sisters. No one else had arrived for dinner, and Castiel held out dim hope it would stay that way. It was maddening enough to keep up the charade with only a few people present in the house, it would be a thousand times worse with Gabriel’s boisterous personality bouncing about and Uriel’s sly humor.

Over after-dinner coffee, Hael finally broached the elephant in the room.

“So,” she asked cheerfully. “Tell us all about your wedding, Castiel!”

“Yes, you know, the one we weren’t invited to,” Anna added with a put-upon frown.

“Don’t feel so bad, Red,” Dean told her with half a smile. “We weren’t expecting anything bigger than a quiet ceremony in the church. Our friends just decided to pull a fast one, throw together a whole shindig.”

“In a church?” Raphael cut in, eyebrows raised. Dean could see the sanctimonious glint to the other man’s eyes and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Yes, in a church,” he replied evenly, immediately reverting his gaze to Castiel’s sisters after he spoke. He offered them a smile. “We have some photos, if you’d like to see them,” Dean suggested, and Castiel thought he sounded almost shy in his offer.

He stood and rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go someplace a little more comfortable?” Castiel suggested. “The small parlor, maybe?”

Hael smiled as she stood. “You never did like the formal dining room,” she told him with a chuckle, moving towards the door, Anna following just behind.

Dean stood as well, and Castiel walking towards the door, and Castiel paused, casting a glance back at his brother, who still sat in silence at the head of the table.

“Will you join us, Raphael?” he asked, keeping his tone even and friendly.

Raphael regarded his brother in silence for a long moment before responding. “No, thank you, Castiel. I believe I will retire for the evening. You should go spend some time with our sisters, you and your…” He gave a short, pregnant pause before fixing an unpleasant smile on his face. “...husband.”


	8. Chapter 8

Hael and Anna were in a tizzy, cooing over each photo in the digital album where they sat on a couch across from Dean and Castiel in the small parlor. They asked questions at each one, asking names for the many smiling faces and wanting to know how they were acquainted with Castiel and their new brother in law. When Dean related that Jo and her mother had closed their bar for the day to throw them a surprise reception, Anna had positively beamed.

Dean reached out a hand and squeezed Castiel’s thigh from where he sat beside him on a small loveseat; he had heard Castiel often express how much like their mother Anna looked when she smiled, in spite of their lack of blood relation. Dean knew he’d go a little misty-eyed at the scene, and sure enough, Castiel’s eyes were shining as he smiled back.

“I’m so happy that you’ve made such wonderful friends, Castiel,” Anna told him, her own eyes a little watery. “Mama would be so happy. She was always so afraid that you’d let your shyness win out when you went away. I wish she could see you now.”

Castiel dropped his eyes to the floor, a guilty flush coming to his cheeks that Dean knew his sisters would only read as an overwhelming moment of emotion. 

“Me too,” he mumbled softly, and Dean put an arm over his shoulder; Castiel leaned into the couch automatically and closed his eyes, enjoying the comfort it provided, even if it were only for show. 

Hael sighed a little and shook head head. “Hey Dean, is this gargantuan brother of yours anything like you? Cos if he is, you need to give me his number.”

Dean snorted. “If I did that, his girlfriend would gut me like a fish,” he said, earning a chuckle even from Castiel.

“You see?” Hael said, directed at Anna, smacking the other woman on the arm as she spoke. “I told you. All the sweet ones are taken.”

Anna laughed, shaking her head. “I guess we’re not all cut out for these epic romances like Cassie is,” she replied, flicking a finger across the tablet to open the next images. “Oh, hey, this one’s a video!” she said cheerfully.

Hael peered over her shoulder. “Is this your first dance?” she asked curiously.

Castiel frowned; he didn’t remember having any first dance at the reception. In all truth, he didn’t remember too terribly much of the reception at all. Ellen had shocked them all by announcing that drinks were on the house, and Castiel, still a bundle of nerves in spite of the successful ceremony, had availed himself of more than his fill of whiskey. As far as he recalled, Dean had as well.

He swapped couches, moving beside Hael to watch the video. Sure enough, he and Dean were at the center of the room, arms wrapped around each other tight enough to hurt; Castiel reasoned he must have been really drunk by then, and was using Dean to hold himself up, lest he hit the polished wooden floor. There was music playing somewhere in the background but it was difficult to hear, the rowdy calls of their gathered friends drowning it out just a little as he and Dean slowly shuffled their way through a slow dance.

“What’s that song?” Anna asked, leaning in a little closer. “I can’t hear it.”

Hael nodded. “It sounds familiar, though,” she said.

Castiel shot Dean a wild, panicked glance. He could hear the music but he didn’t recognize it, which he thought was a blessing in itself. Dean had said for years that if he ever got married, he’d dance his partner around the floor to Whole Lotta Love, and that would have been a little difficult to explain. The song playing was slower in tempo, and sounded acoustic, if Castiel was hearing it correctly.

Dean cleared his throat, face just gently flushed, and muttered something in response.

“Huh?” Anna asked, arching a quizzical eyebrow at him.

The flush pink of Dean’s cheeks deepened, and he cleared his throat again. “It’s, uh… it’s called ‘If You Were a Stone’,” he explained. 

Hael’s eyes lit in recognition. “Oh! I love Ron Pope,” she said with a smile. “That’s an odd choice for you, though, isn’t it? Cassie said you were some kind of metalhead.”

Dean gave a low chuckle. “‘Metalhead’,” he echoed, shaking his head. “Jesus, Cas… no, yeah, though, I guess it’s not the kind of thing I usually go for, but… well my brother, it’s the kind of thing he listens to and he kept sayin’ it reminded him of me an’ Cas, so it seemed kind of fitting…”

Castiel eyed Hael curiously, noticing with some alarm that she had gotten the weepy, wide-eyed look on her face that typically surfaced only when she was watching The Notebook or an episode of Too Cute.

“That is the sweetest thing I ever heard!” she declared, shaking her head. She turned to her brother and gave him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. “Castiel, I hope you know how god damn lucky you are, you jerk!”

They retired to their room not long after that, still fatigued from their travel in spite of their rest earlier in the day. Castiel was feeling a little strange, as though there were things going on above his head that no one had told him about. It was more than a little disconcerting.

Castiel had just pulled an old t-shirt over his head when Dean emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his boxer briefs and a similarly ratty t-shirt. 

“I feel like my mom is going to slap my hand for using those towels,” he declared, shaking his head with a smile. The linens in Holly House were reminiscent of the sort that his mother kept on the high shelf in her closet, only to put out when company arrived and never to be actually touched by her sons’ grubby hands.

“I didn’t know we danced,” Castiel said by way of response, settling himself on the edge of the bed with a frown on his face.

Dean’s smile dropped for a split second before he plastered it back on. “You were pretty bombed, Cas,” he replied easily, hopping onto the other side of the bed with enough force to make Castiel bounce in his seat. “I’m surprised you even remembered we got hitched.”

Castiel turned and arched an eyebrow. “Is there anything else I’m not recalling?” he pressed. “I was blindsided by that, Dean.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Dean told him with a shrug. “I didn’t even know that was on there, I only went through the photos once, really quick, to make sure Sammy hadn’t snuck anything weird in there.”

“Us slow-dancing isn’t weird?” Castiel responded.

Dean snorted. “Not when we just got married, Cas. You’re freaking out again, man. Calm it down a little.”

Castiel sighed as he stood, pulling back the comforter and sheet from his side of the bed before climbing in.

“I feel awful even doing this,” he grumbled, putting his head down on his pillow. “Lying to Hael and Anna like this. Raphael, I don’t really care about… I doubt I’ll even see him again after this, to be honest. But Anna and Hael… or if Michael or Gabriel or Uriel comes, I just…”

“I know, man,” Dean agreed, sighing. He stood and pulled back the bed linens, sliding in beside Castiel. He pulled the chain on an expensive looking lamp on the bedside table, bathing them both in darkness, and made himself comfortable before sighing again. “Look, it’s not ideal, right? And they might be a little pissed afterwards, but I can tell just from talking to your sisters that they won’t hold it against you in the long run. Sometimes we gotta put up with some painful shit, if it’ll lead to something better later on. Right?”

“I suppose…” Castiel huffed. “That money could do a world of good, you know. Hael has student loans, and I know Anna’s Neon is on its last legs.”

“There you go,” Dean agreed, and Castiel felt him reach across the bed in the darkness and pat him on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Just try not to overthink it now.”

They lay in silence a long moment, Dean shifting a little here and there to get into a more comfortable sleeping position, before Castiel broke the quiet again.

“Dean?” he asked. “Is there anything else I don’t remember?”

“I don’t know man, what do you remember?” Dean replied, exhaling low as he crossed his arms behind his head.

“It’s kind of a blur after the cake,” Castiel relented, and Dean chuckled.

“Doesn’t surprise me, the way you were tossin’em back,” he agreed. “Uh… well, we danced. Jo ordered a fuck-ton of pizza to feed everybody. You were picking the olives off on of them and flicking them at Sam when he wasn’t looking. There, uh, may have been some body shots after that.”

“What?” Castiel asked, startled enough to sit up. “Seriously?”

Dean laughed. “Dude, I couldn’t stop you. You grabbed a bottle of tequila, insisted newlyweds did that kind of shit, and the next thing I know, you’re sucking a piece of lime out of my mouth, spitting it out, and tongue-fucking me like teenagers in a backseat.”

“Oh my god…” Castiel said, hands over his face. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“Pretty sure Jo recorded it on her phone,” Dean told him with a laugh. 

Castiel just groaned and pressed his face into his pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://literatec.tumblr.com), if you wish.
> 
> Please do not add this, or any of my posted works, to Goodreads. Thank you.


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